


By the Black Water

by scarimor



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 07:13:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1889760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarimor/pseuds/scarimor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>She won't kill Emma; but someone ought to die... </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the Black Water

**Author's Note:**

> Hiatus fic, set immediately after season 3.

"Did you know?"

That wasn't the question Regina was expecting. She didn't think those would be the first words out of his mouth. Regina thinks she should have expected them... because of course now that Marian and Robin are reunited and talking about the countless things they will inevitably talk about, this has to be high on the list. Regina imagines the words she didn't hear but knows they blurted to each other, the exclamations back and forth -

_"I thought you died!"_

_"I almost did."_

_"I thought Rumplestiltskin killed you."_

_"Not him. The Evil Queen sentenced me to death. Emma saved my life. If not for Emma I would be dead."_

They are words Regina didn't hear only because she escaped into the cold night air before they could notice; but she knows these words or something very like them were uttered, amongst the declarations of love and relief and joy.

But Regina didn't escape far enough, because he stepped out of the diner and found her at the corner - minutes later? An hour later? Regina isn't sure how long it took, because she's in her own taut bubble of shock, wretched and disconnected, her feelings in pieces and rattling inside her. He doesn't follow her out to reassure her, not that she thought he would. He follows her for the truth.

"Did you know?" Robin asks again, his voice ragged, his jaw tense.

"Know what?"

But she understands of course. Regina knows exactly what Robin wants to know - so much so that she can't bear the sound of his words falling from his stiff mouth, daring her to lie.

"When I told you how I lost her and believed it was my fault... were you thinking about what you did?"

His voice is dry and rough, like cracked bark peeling away from a tree trunk. Regina doesn't speak. She won't lie to him.

"And were you ever going to tell us?" he asks. "Were you going to tell me that you killed the love of my life? Were you going to tell Roland how you murdered his mother?"

She's barely aware of her surroundings, yet wonders how this could be any worse. Is that contempt she sees in his face, or just bewilderment? Perhaps he's entitled to both.

Regina has no answer for him, so he doesn't wait. He goes back into the diner - back to his beautiful wife and his beautiful son.  So Regina turns and walks away into the night, because what else is there for her to do?

She finds herself at the docks. The chill of the North Atlantic tugs at her hair and pinches her cheeks until they hurt. At first she grimaces at the cold and hugs herself tightly, trying to protect herself from the external iciness and loss alike; but after a while she's grateful for it. The cold pierces the tight bubble of shock and restores her presence. Clarity seeps into her mind and carves a new, rational niche:

It doesn't matter what Robin thinks. It doesn't matter who Robin wants. It doesn't matter what Regina wants now. Even if she wanted to be 'the other woman', which she doesn't, it makes no difference. Because it also doesn't matter who tells Marian that Regina is no longer dangerous - that the woman she saw threaten and kill only yesterday has changed, and that Regina fights for good now. None of that matters, because Marian is a _mother_ , and that mother won't let the Evil Queen she knows anywhere near her son. She'll die again first.

And as a mother, Regina wouldn't respect Marian otherwise.

Yet someone needs to pay for what's happened. Regina shoves her hands in her pockets and strides towards one of the smaller jetties. She places her heels carefully on the wooden planks to avoid the cracks and walks towards the ocean. She's not really dressed for this place. Half way down she slows and wanders to the right side of the jetty. She steps close to the edge. Standing between a heap of discarded fishing tackle and a post rubbed shiny and smooth by countless callused hands, Regina looks down. The sea is as black as ink. It sloshes against the wooden uprights several feet below. Regina can't discern a pattern. The water seems soulless, empty.

Who should pay? Marian is out of the running, of course. Any ill-will towards Marian at this point would be misdirected. Marian didn't start this, and harming her won't fix it. Nothing can fix it. Harming Marian or Robin would look... petulant. Regina is not a scorned cliché.

Regina wonders who she should kill for this. Who deserves to die?

_If not for Emma..._

There is a kind of warmth in hatred. Regina feels it kindle deep inside her. She can almost locate its physical presence - a tiny piece of tinder somewhere beneath her sternum. It ignites and begins to spread, slowly heating her body against the cold night. Regina recognises that tangible warmth as the effect of dark magic, and realises she hasn't felt its nurturing presence for some time.

Emma then? Regina _should_ make Emma hurt. It's a natural part of their love-hate relationship, and Emma surely deserves to feel something of the suffering that she has inflicted. Regina knows it would feel good right now to give the Saviour some of that pain.

But Regina would really miss Emma if she died. She doesn't want Emma dead.

_"I just wanted to save her life."_

No, she won't kill Emma; but someone ought to die for this. Regina wants to feel that heat fill the emptiness inside her.

Tinker Bell, perhaps. Regina thinks the fairy does bear responsibility for much of this cruel mess. Tinker Bell introduced her to pixie-dust, and now Regina knows that pixie-dust is the Enchanted Forest's version of this world's crystal meth. The high it promises lasts barely as long, and the crash is worse. Regina wonders what the hell makes fairies think they know enough to meddle in human affairs. When they're not advising inexperienced parents to put their new-borns in magic closets they're pushing their tempting powder on miserable young adults. As Gold so often tells those who risk it, magic always has a price. Tinker Bell neglected to remind her of that.

But this time Regina should have remembered that mantra herself. She's old enough and experienced enough to know better. So is the fairy really to blame because Regina forgot to just say no? Because Regina forgot that a fanciful claim on destiny would laugh in her face sooner or later?

Besides, Regina is fond of Tink. She doesn't want Tink dead either.

The wind picks up and Regina pulls her gloved hands out of her pockets to tug her leather collar tighter around her neck. She looks out beyond the creaking boats, past the dancing reflections of dull shore lights, into the uniform blackness that is both the sea and sky on an overcast night. She remembers an easier time, when deciding who to kill was the simplest of her choices; when she would punish incompetence with a snapped neck; when she would turn someone to limestone for not showing her respect. All those swift and merciful deaths, soon decided, quickly executed, instantly cathartic. She misses that simplicity.

"Fancy a swig?"

Regina starts, then she composes her features and growls quietly in her throat. Perfect. The pirate. She doesn't turn round.

"What do you want?"

Hook comes into view on her left. He's like an angular shadow from the neck down, all black pieces of leather lapel and cuff and boot.  Above his collar his face looks pale against the darkness.

"Oh yes, I forgot." He waves his flask. "You don't _do_ rum." His tone is just this side of derisive. Regina watches him take a drink.

"Did you follow me here?" she asks.

"Now why would I do that?"

Regina sneers. She doesn't care whether he would or not, but here he is, and if nothing else it's an annoying coincidence. Regina decides she's rather too close to the jetty's edge for comfort and takes a step back.

"I am a man of the sea," says Hook, as though laying claim to a great estate. "I may not have a ship at these docks, but the sea is still in my veins. I like to breathe it in. The brine is in my blood."

Regina scowls. "How long did it take you to compose that nonsense?"

He looks at her sideways. "Why, Your Majesty, anyone might think you're displeased with me. Could it be because you're jealous?"

"Jealous?"

"Because I won my prize, and you just lost yours... to a peasant."

The surge of familiar heat Regina feels in her belly at that moment is a strange kind of comfort. She knows that most people think of the Darkness as cold and harsh, but Regina knows it isn't. Dark magic is seductive, like the warmth that spreads in the aftermath of an adrenalin rush, only steadier and more constant. It's rich and paradoxical, both exciting and calming at the same time. She turns to the pirate and smiles her distaste for him.

"That's exactly what Emma is to you, isn't she?"

Either Hook can't help looking sordid or he doesn't care. His response is an indecent grin and another swig from his flask. When he licks the rum from his lips it looks like he's trying to taste something else.

"That's it," says Regina slowly, wondering why she had not realised before. "You gave up one obsession only because you found another. Emma is your new Crocodile."

Hook sucks in air through his teeth. He doesn't look at her, and Regina knows she's right on target. She feels her lip curling in a sneer.

"Well, Captain, you may think you've caught this Crocodile, but you've yet to skewer it. Given how many ports you've put in during a storm, and our old world's lack of penicillin, she might decide this is as far as you get."

Her reward is an angry tremor in the fist that grips the flask. His body stiffens.

"Ooh," she says, her words clipped and delicate, "did I hit home with that?"

Hook faces her abruptly and his eyes flash, his anger obvious.

"What makes you think I'm any of your business, woman?"

Suddenly Regina is very focused. Her tone goes cold and as hard as granite.

"I don't want you near Henry. You're to stay away from my son."

There's a brief moment when Regina isn't sure how Hook is going to respond to that. If he has any sense he will just shrug and offer compliance, whether or not he means it. Regina watches the reaction that plays across his face.

He doesn't have the sense. He is too flush with his own success. He can offer only arrogance.

"Well now, Your Majesty, you're not the one who gets to decide that. If Emma wants me in her life, you'll just have to accept me in her boy's too."

That's when Regina sees it - the inevitable predator in the pirate. She can't have that. Like a black rose that only blooms at midnight, her puzzle opens up and solves itself. She feels a familiar tingling in her fingertips. Perhaps his arrival wasn't a coincidence. Perhaps magic is still at play. Perhaps this really is perfect after all.

"Oh," she says, in a near-whisper, and with a flick of her wrist. "You forgot."

The tangle of fishing line at Regina's feet leaps up and flies towards Hook. He staggers backwards under its impact before he even realises what it is, colliding with the polished post behind him. Regina raises her hand and points with one finger. Her contempt for the thing before her that calls itself a man mingles with her mother's instinct to protect her son. It's an intense emotion which forges powerful magic - one she finds so easy to direct in her current state of mind. She is merciless and precise. Under her command the synthetic wire is like a living creature. It coils three times around Hook's throat, then whips around the post at his back, spiralling and pulling tight.

Hook's flask of rum drops to the jetty and his hand shoots up to his neck. His fingers scramble for purchase underneath the fishing line but already it is too taut. Regina breathes steadily and guides the line higher, deeper, watching it compress his larynx.

"You forgot who I _am_ ," Regina says.

The sudden panic on Hook's face tells her he understands, and she smiles up at him. The reality of his predicament sinks in fast and his struggles escalate. His hand thrashes, clawing but futile. His face starts to blotch, then darkens to a colour which might be dull purple but it's hard to tell in this poor light. Unable to speak, he lashes out at her with his hook, but she is careful to stay just out of reach.

Regina maintains the pressure. Hook's hand moves feverishly down over his coat but Regina is also ready for that. Her magic snatches each weapon from him before his fingers can touch it. Blades and pistols spin away and splash into the water.

She lets him keep his hook. It becomes amusing when he tries to grapple the wire with it, tearing messy chunks out of his own flesh.

The line cuts deeper. Beads of blood appear, so dark at first they look black, then brightening as they smear down his throat. Regina is calm, her control absolute. She can take her time, stripping Hook of his veneer of decency as his own nails strip the skin from his neck. She relishes his loss of guise even more than she enjoys his loss of breath. His glaring eyes begin to bulge, outrage warring with physical desperation on his contorted features. That makes her want to laugh, so she does. Bloody froth seeps at the corners of his stricken mouth. There he is, she thinks - without his tawdry jokes and insincere apologies - just the violent coward, dying.

As Hook's flailing limbs weaken and the skin around his eyes begins to spot with tiny haemorrhages, Regina speaks clearly:

"I want you to know why I'm killing you, Hook. I'm not killing you because you're still a liar and a cheat... although you are both.  I'm not killing you because you helped bring Marian here and then mocked me... although I'd like to.  I'm not killing you because it's the only way to protect my son from your tendency to violence when you don't get what you want... it's just the easiest. I'm not even killing you because you strapped me down in a stinking basement to be tortured to death... although I ought to."

Regina pauses to watch his feet kick feebly against the post.

"I'm killing you because you were stupid. You're dying for your hubris, fool."

Then it takes less than a minute. Pallid mortality creeps across Hook's skin. His useless arms drop to his sides and his eyes glaze like bloodshot glass. His body spasms weakly and his tongue swells between discoloured lips. Eventually he stops twitching and hangs from the post, lifeless and ugly.

Regina turns away and inhales deeply. Chilled air fills her lungs and she embraces it, feeling refreshed and composed. She gazes out over the ocean for a while, and now the lights reflected on the waves don't seem so dull. The water is still as black as ink and the sky is still opaque with night, but both are richer for it now, their dark depths reassuring.

When she's ready, Regina flicks a final command at the coiled line and it unwinds and falls away. The body slides down the post and hits the jetty. There is a dull crack when the skull bounces once. The fishing tackle slips over the side of the jetty but the body doesn't, so Regina uses her foot to shove it the last few inches. The corpse lands in the water with a loud, hollow splash. It sinks slowly. In the minutes that follow Regina can hear it knocking against the wooden uprights, until the current pulls it away.

"Regina!"

Regina turns round to see Emma and Snow on the dock some distance away, walking towards her. Snow waves and calls out to her.

"There you are!"

Regina waits for them on the jetty. She notices their pace quicken, and as they draw closer the anxiety on their faces becomes clear.

"We were worried about you," says Snow, a little breathless. She hasn't moved this fast in quite some time. "We wondered where you'd gone."

"I'm fine."

"Really?" asks Emma. She doesn't look convinced. "After what happened, I thought you might... do something."

" _Do_ something?" Regina's eyebrow lifts.

"Yeah..."

"Like key your car?"

The look of awkwardness on Emma's face is satisfying.

"Well, uh, maybe. Or torch it with a fireball. Or toss a fireball at _me_."

Regina smiles at her. "No fireballs. I promise."

Snow comes closer and takes both Regina's hands in hers. Her expression is open, exuding concern; typical Snow. "Are you sure you're ok?"

Regina nods and repeats herself. "I'm fine." She can feel Emma's cautious eyes on her, gauging her response, looking for signs of deception. There is a flicker of surprise on Emma's face when she detects none.

"Ok," says Emma, and she sounds relieved. "It's late, and I need to get back to Henry." She turns and starts walking back.

"And it's cold," says Snow, keeping hold of Regina's left hand and falling into step beside her. "Come on."

Snow's boot hits something on the jetty. The small object rattles. Snow and Regina both look down, pausing when they see Hook's flask spin gently in their path. A few drops of rum land on the jetty and seep into the timber.

Regina glances ahead. Emma is still walking. She hasn't noticed. Regina looks at Snow.

Snow is staring down at the flask. Her expression is quizzical, and then a light of recognition appears to dawn in her eyes. Her lips move and she looks as though she's about to say something, but she doesn't. Instead her features still. Regina remembers all the times Snow looked away in disgust when Hook said something off-colour. Now she seems to compose herself and make a decision.

Snow nudges the flask aside with the toe of her boot and it slides over the edge of the jetty. It vanishes into the ocean with hardly a sound. Then Snow's hand tightens in Regina's and they start walking back into town.

Regina smiles. Perhaps Snow has learned when to keep her mouth shut, finally.

 

~~~

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and feedback welcome :)


End file.
